


Claustrophobia

by irishgirlE



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Claustrophobia, F/M, Gen, Hurt Napoleon, Hurt/Comfort, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22755973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishgirlE/pseuds/irishgirlE
Summary: Being a spy - being a thief - meant that Napoleon had been forced to get used to the need for quick and often uncomfortable getaways. It was often undignified and was rarely clean, but all that mattered was he escaped to live another day.Working with a team meant that Napoleon had a large number of things to get used to. Back-up was one, less control over plans was another.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo & Gaby Teller
Comments: 2
Kudos: 91





	Claustrophobia

Being a spy - being a thief - meant that Napoleon had been forced to get used to the need for quick and often uncomfortable getaways. It was often undignified and was rarely clean, but all that mattered was he escaped to live another day. 

Because, before, all of his getaways and escapes were entirely on him. The CIA wasn’t going to waste anything on him. They weren’t going to risk another agent to save him, they weren’t going to negotiate for his freedom, they weren’t going to lift a finger to save his life. At best, they might send someone to retrieve his body from wherever it was dumped. 

All of his escapes had to be done on his own, which meant that he had to arrange it himself. And while that had been difficult and awkward, it also meant that he had a degree of freedom. He had the choice between climbing under a moving car or racing across an open field with the constant threat of a bullet in the back. His choices often weren’t good, but they were his. 

Working with a team meant that Napoleon had a large number of things to get used to. Back-up was one, less control over plans was another. 

Being a thief, and being a spy, often meant that his work needed to be meticulous. He needed to know his target inside and out, he needed to know every entrance, every exit, everywhere that he could escape and be prepared for anything that could go wrong. Since joining UNCLE, that level of detail had slipped. 

Being UNCLE’s best, and almost only, team meant that they weren’t always given a lot of time before being sent out on a mission. The reconnaissance work was done, to a great standard, but not always to his standards. But, without the threat of being left behind, Solo hadn’t pushed as he wanted. Having Illya and Gaby there made him more confident, more reckless. 

He trusted them, trusted their ability to keep him safe. He trusted them with his life, but there was a bit more to him than that. 

In hindsight, their mission went wrong from the beginning. Gaby was acting as their distraction. She waltzed into their target’s house dressed to the nines. All of their information had told them that she was perfect for their target. But she walked in and turned every head but his. Of course, Gaby was a professional and she managed to get his attention in the end. Even if her method involved more spilt alcohol and falling than Napoleon would have liked, but still, less blood than Illya would have spilt. 

While Gaby kept the target distracted, Solo and Illya were supposed to break into the upper levels of the house and steal some documents. The second difficulty of their mission was that a guard was not where he was supposed to be. 

The guard arrived back from his circuit a few seconds too early and Illya was forced to subdue him. Then the second guard arrived. Thankfully, they had foreseen the eventuality of getting spotted by at least one guard so Illya and Solo were dressed suitably for the party downstairs, and Illya was able to play off having gotten lost in the house, but it was obvious that the guard was suspicious. He let Illya wander off, keeping an eye on his retreating figure before he continued on his own circuit. 

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t find his friend stuffed in that grandfather clock,” Solo murmured to Illya, emerging from the doorway that he had ducked into. 

“No one will be looking,” Illya replied. “He is only suspicious, he does not suspect we are spies. We are too good. Well,” he said. “ _ I  _ am spy. You are not so good.”

Solo bit back his retort because he knew that there was no way he could hide his smile. Despite the growing pains that this team had faced, he enjoyed having a partner that he could joke with. Even if most of their jokes were at the expense of the other. It was hard to believe that only a few months before they had been prepared to kill the other. Most of the time, Napoleon couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known Gaby and Illya his entire life. Some of the time though, it was plainly obvious that they were still relative strangers in some aspects. 

“Next person we meet, I’ll do the talking. I’m the more charming of us,” Solo said. 

“Charm is boring.”

Solo nearly rolled his eyes. “Maybe to you. People will forget the handsome stranger in the hallway, it’s hard to miss the unconscious guard and the 6’4’’ Russian standing over him.”

Illya’s lips twitched. “6’5’’,” he corrected.

Napoleon did roll his eyes. Four inches difference wasn’t that much of a difference between them, but there was no way that he was saying that out loud. Certainly not where Gaby might hear. 

Together, they moved through the house, ducking into doorways and hiding under staircases whenever someone approached. Trying to not get caught, all the while trying to give off the impression that they were just lost and wandering around just in case they were caught. If anyone did notice them, it was likely that they would just be thrown out for crashing the celebrations, as few guests of this party were aware of the activities of their host and employer, but with Gaby inside neither man wanted to risk leaving her to fend entirely for herself. Her cover was strong, but she didn’t have the same level of experience that they did in improvising and working alone. 

As they neared their destination, their target’s office, problem number three reared its ugly head. Or rather, its quite attractive but still unfortunately placed head. 

Their target had a beautiful, young niece who lived in the house. She was entirely unaware of what her uncle was up to. Originally, Waverly had planned to have either Napoleon or Illya attempt to seduce her, but when it became clear that she knew nothing of her uncle’s actions and would be all but useless in obtaining any information about the documents that plan was discarded in favour of the one that they were working with. 

But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still a danger to their plan. As the niece of the host, she knew exactly who was and wasn’t supposed to be at this party. And she was sure to realise that the two strange men snooping in the upper levels of the house were certainly not supposed to be there. 

But, this was exactly the type of situation that charm designed for. 

Napoleon shot Illya a look and barely resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at his partner who he shot him an unimpressed look in response. “I’ll deal with her, you see about getting into the office.”

Illya grumbled under his breath as Napoleon slipped out of their hiding place and affected a look of embarrassed confusion. He just about hid his smirk when he heard Illya mutter about trying to pick the lock of the office. Their first mission together aside, Napoleon was the one with sticky fingers, and he was the best at lock picking of their trio, with Gaby in second. And Illya the least talented. He was by no means awful at it. Especially since Napoleon was one of the best safe-crackers in the world - top hundred definitely. Still, Napoleon loved the opportunity to hold something over his partner’s head. 

“Excuse me, Miss?” Napoleon called, approaching the woman. 

Diana Hesse looked up at his approach. She smiled politely but didn’t pretend to be friendly. “I’m sorry, sir. But I don’t believe you are supposed to be here. My uncle doesn’t want his guests here.”

“Your uncle?” Napoleon repeated. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I was separated from my cousin when I went looking for a bathroom and I think by now I’m rather lost. Would you mind helping me back to the celebrations? I’m sure my cousin must be looking for me by now.”

Diana’s face softened, as Napoleon knew it would. The plan to seduce her might have been discarded, but the information about her had still been gathered. She was the heiress to a large fortune and seemed intent on giving most of it to charities. There was no cause too small for this woman. Helping a lost guest get back to a party was exactly the sort of cause that she would champion. He almost felt bad about deceiving her, but then he remembered exactly what her uncle got up to. This was the best thing for her. With the documents secured, her uncle would be arrested, his criminal underworld dismantled and she would become significantly wealthier, able to all the good that she desired with no one trying to undermine that. 

“Of course,” she said. “I live here and I often find myself a little lost from time to time. I’m Diana Hess, by the way.”

Napoleon smiled. “Wonderful to meet you, Diana. I’m Napoleon Krone,” he said. He had argued that using a fake first name would make more sense than simply a false surname, but Waverly had disagreed. He said that Napoleon was much more likely to be dismissed as a fake name than anything else that they could come up with which wasn’t entirely… wrong. 

His mother might call him Napoleon, but that wasn’t exactly what was on his birth certificate. He had discarded his real name years ago, leaving it behind with the rest of his law-abiding life, his mother's nickname for him the only part of his past that he still carried. 

"Mister… Krone?" Diana said, uncertain. "I'm not sure I've heard of you."

"No, I expect not," Napoleon laughed. "I came as a guest of my cousin. Her fiancé was unable to attend, and I never like to miss the opportunity to celebrate. Miss Gabrielle Krone? You may have heard of her?"

Diana nodded. "Oh yes, I saw her earlier. She's very beautiful."

"I'll have to tell her that. But first, would you mind directing me to the facilities? I have to get back to her soon."

"Of course," said Diana.

Napoleon offered her his arm and he let her lead him away from the office. With his free hand, he signalled Illya to get to work and kept her attention from the door. 

It took a few more minutes than Napoleon would have liked to shake off his new friend. The bathroom was further from the office than he expected, and he had to assure Diana that he would be able to find his way back to the party alone. 

He rushed back to the office much later than hoped. It wasn't that he didn't have absolute faith in Illya's skills, which were, again, not bad as long as they weren't compared to his own, but Illya wasn't that fond of the delicate nature of this sort of task. He tended to get frustrated, and that just caused them more problems. Well, it usually caused Napoleon a few more problems. He was very charming when he needed to be, but there was only so much that charm could do in the face of a dented wall and several missing guards. 

"Peril?" Napoleon hissed, sneaking into the room.

"Over here, Cowboy," Illya replied, hiding in a dark corner of the room.

Napoleon's hand automatically moved to turn on the lights, only for Illya to snap at him. "Peril?" He said again. "Illya, what's wrong?" He moved close enough to see the moonlight reflected in the whites of Illya's eyes through the window. 

"Everything," Illya groused. "This is set-up. Documents are missing."

"All of them?" Napoleon said. "Are you sure that you're looking in the right place?" Their information hadn't indicated a second safe, but it wouldn't be the first time Napoleon had had to deal with an overcautious mark. 

Even in the low light, Napoleon couldn’t miss Illya’s glare. 

“I am not looking in the ‘wrong place’. This is set-up. There is a man looking through the window. He knows we are here.”

“Someone was expecting us,” Napoleon murmured, muttering a curse under his breath. “But where are those damn files,” he wondered. “There’s nowhere else he could have hidden them.”

“What about the niece?” Illya asked. 

Napoleon shook his head. “No, she’s not involved. And if she had any documents on her then she’s hidden them somewhere I’m unaware of. And there’s not many of those,” he added, almost absentmindedly. He was well used to honeypot missions, and they usually involved satisfying a mark. 

Illya rolled his eyes and was likely going to say something about American women when there was a short burst of static from inside his jacket. 

“Is that from Gaby?” Napoleon asked. “Did you bug her?”

Illya didn’t even look ashamed. “It is for her protection. She has no back-up.”

“Except us,” Napoleon argued. 

“And we are here, not with her,” Illya argued. “This is better.”

“It’s a breach of privacy,” Napoleon muttered, even as he fingered the tiny bundle of electronics sewn into the lining of his suit pocket. He recognised the Russian’s stitching on the lining. It was nice to know that there was someone looking out for him, even if it was still a breach of privacy. “Is she okay?”

Illya nodded. “It is just precautionary.”

Solo decided to accept that answer and move on. He would just have to tell Gaby later. Perhaps the next time she was mad at him he could turn her attention to Peril instead. For someone who played innocent so well, she was surprisingly vicious when she wanted to be. 

He started peering around the office and creeping along the floor, searching for any sign of a hidden safe, all the while keeping out of view of the window. He felt very foolish crawling along in a crouched position, but he valued his life slightly more than his pride. And, as a former thief, not being able to find a lousy safe was doing more damage to his pride than the threat of a headshot.

“Any ideas?” He asked. 

“Is not in desk or floor,” Illya replied. “I checked.”

Napoleon glanced over at his partner, unsurprised to see that he had taken out his transmitter and was now openly listening in to Gaby’s conversations. From the other side of the room, Napoleon couldn’t make out the words, but he could detect something odd about Gaby’s tone. “How is she doing?”

Illya frowned. “She is perfect. But the man is difficult.” He didn’t elaborate, and Napoleon didn’t ask him to. The quickest way to get her out of there was to find the documents and get out, then she could make her leave. But, first, he had to find the safe. 

Napoleon’s gaze flitted across the room again, a faint idea forming in his brain. His eyes settled on a small, decorative statuette sitting in a pool of marbles. If the safe wasn’t in the floor or on the desk, then it must be somewhere in the walls. There were no cabinets or closets to hide something in. and Napoleon doubted that there was a single square inch of the desk that Illya had missed. But a hidden safe or room wasn’t as hidden as people expected. Certainly not to a thief. 

He scooped up a single marble and placed it in the centre of the room, watching it roll across the floor. He grinned, perfect. Napoleon followed the ball as it rolled and slowly examined the area of wall where the marble landed. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could just about feel the hinges under the wallpaper. From there, finding the latch was easy. The wall panel swung out without a sound, revealing the large metal safe hidden within. He shot Illya a triumphant look. 

“Good trick,” Illya said. “But KGB uses better equipment.”

Napoleon ignored the now-familiar joke and replaced the marble. “How’s Gaby doing?” He asked, running his hands along the safe. He wasn’t familiar with this model. It was a custom made, he guessed. A mix of different types, but the lock was familiar. And whatever type it was, a safe was still a safe. When Illya didn’t immediately answer him, he tuned out the faint radio chatter and started working on the lock. 

After several long minutes of frustrating but familiar work, the safe clicked and swung open. Napoleon grinned and peered inside for the documents. It was a large safe, larger than he had expected. He felt around inside, not wanting to risk using a torch in case the guard watching the window saw. 

“How is Gaby doing now?” He asked. 

Napoleon glanced over his shoulder when Illya didn’t answer and startled at the sight of the Russian towering over him, just behind him. “Christ, Peril!” He cursed. 

Illya’s jaw was locked but his eyes were bright with worry. “Something is wrong,” he announced. “I must go to Gaby.”

Napoleon found the documents and tugged them out of the safe. “We’ve got them, let’s go.”

“No,” said Illya. Then, “I’m sorry, I will be back.” He snatched the files out of Napoleon’s hand and pushed him into the safe. 

Startled, Napoleon didn’t resist or fight back until after he could hear the distant bang of the office door shutting. In the complete darkness and uncomfortable tightness of the safe, he remained shocked and absolutely still until he heard the soft click of the locking mechanism. Then, for lack of a better phrase, Napoleon lost his shit. 

Before joining UNCLE, Napoleon had been forced to plan his own escapes and hiding places for himself. While this often meant hiding in disgusting and in some cases dangerous places, it meant that Napoleon could choose where he absolutely did not want to hide. He could choose himself what was or wasn’t more preferable to dying or being captured. There was only one type of hiding place that Napoleon considered worse than dying, and this was it. 

Being a spy meant keeping his own secrets. It meant keeping your weaknesses hidden. And Napoleon’s weakness was that he was incredibly, seriously, terrifyingly, claustrophobic. 

Given the chance to prepare, Napoleon had little tricks to deal with it. He knew to keep his eyes closed, to not feel the walls in front of him, to keep his breathing steady, to focus on something else, to do everything to ground himself in reality and reason while, at the same time, to ignore the terror that pulsed through his veins and longed for expression. Napoleon had not been given the chance to prepare. 

The safe had seemed quite large when he had first gazed on it. With a 6’1’’ man forced inside, almost upside-down, it became significantly smaller. 

Within seconds, Napoleon had lost all sense of himself. Panting and gasping and crying, openly, brokenly, far from the well-put-together man he prided himself on being. His tears dripped into his gasping mouth and he choked on them, unable to whimper and plead for his freedom without air. 

The walls were closing in, the air was gone, darkness even greater than the darkness of his prison crept closer and closer. He was dying. He was  _ dying  _ . 

His life flashed before his eyes. His mother. His father. Their deaths. The war. His friends. His friends’ deaths. The CIA. His missions. UNCLE. Waverly. Gaby. Illya. Their deaths. 

Napoleon sucked in a breath. No. Gaby and Illya and Waverly weren’t dead. They were alive. Gaby and Illya were still in the house. They were in trouble, but they were still alive. And so was he. 

Napoleon exhaled and inhaled again, slowly, slower, and steadier. He closed his eyes and slowly counted backwards from ten. Then he counted forwards again, and then he counted to fifty and back again. He waited until he could feel the tears drying on his cheeks. His heart stopped pounding in his chest. It beat hard against his ribs, but no longer pumped a runaway rhythm. 

His fingers crept along the walls of his prison, feeling out the dimensions of the safe and carefully, he righted himself and picked a roomy corner to sit in and spread out his legs. The metal walls of the safe were chilled in the darkness and Napoleon pressed his sweat-soaked forehead to the cool metal, letting it ground him even further. He was trapped, he was in trouble, but he was safe. 

Illya had said that he would be back. And Napoleon believed him. He trusted Peril. He trusted him more than he had ever trusted the CIA, Peril wouldn’t leave him behind. Gaby wouldn’t leave him behind. He might have to hit Illya a few times for pushing him into a tiny cage, but he wasn’t worried about being left behind. 

Steadily, Napoleon regained his composure. 

He leaned his head back against the walls of the safe, and continued to breathe slowly and steadily. Instead of focusing on the size of his cage, he chose to start mentally writing up his mission report, and then he started planning how he would redecorate his flat in London, and then he moved on to planning out Gaby and Illya’s wedding, although he would probably be grey by the time they ever truly acted on their feelings. 

It felt like hours had passed since he had been trapped, but he knew that it couldn’t have been more than a single hour before he heard a noise outside. There were several loud voices, rising and falling in volume and pitch. 

He banged on the wall of the safe. “Hello!” He called, voice cracking. “Is anyone there?”

The voices shut off, before starting again in earnest. The safe door swung open with a loud click, and Napoleon was blinded with the return of light. He covered his face with his hands, groaning at the burning of his optic nerves. The business end of a baton was shoved in his face. 

“Show yourself!” He was ordered. 

Napoleon groaned loudly at the order, but he did pull away his hands, still blinking at the light. 

There was a loud feminine gasp. “Mister Krone!” Diana Hess cried out, startled. 

The weapon in his face was pulled back, and the guard holding it looked faintly sheepish. 

“Mister Krone, are you alright?” Diana asked. 

“You know this man, Miss Hess?” The guard asked. 

“He is a guest,” Diana snapped. “Put away your weapon. Mister Krone, what are you doing in there?”

Napoleon cleared his throat and put on his best dazed and confused expression, adding just a hint of faintly traumatised to sell it. It wasn’t as hard as it usually was. “I was having difficulty finding my way back to the celebrations so I decided to come back the way I came. I was sure that I could retrace my steps from there. I was attacked from behind by a man, I didn’t see who, and then the next thing that I knew it was dark and I was here.”

Diana’s face softened. No cause too small. “That’s terrible,” she cooed. She reached out a touched a hand to the back of his head. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” said Napoleon, clearing his throat again, not liking having someone so close to him quite yet. He would get over this, he would have to, but he needed some time first. “I’m just a little shook up.”

“Of course,” said Diana, nodding. “You have my sincerest apologies. There have been a series of incidents this evening. A guard was attacked, the alarms went off, and I'm afraid, your cousin’s finacé arrived and caused a little bit of a stir.” She pressed her lips together. “One of my uncle’s associates is a little bit too forward and your cousin’s fiancé took issue, not that I can blame him,” she confided. 

Napoleon had to hide a smirk of his own. He wasn’t happy with Illya for shoving him into a tiny safe, but he was never sorry to learn about a pervert being dealt with. He was only sorry to miss seeing it. “I hope your uncle wasn’t too inconvenienced,” Napoleon said.

Diana shook her head. “Every Hess party seems to involve some sort of altercation. I think it’s why Uncle doesn’t like me attending.”

Napoleon doubted that was the reason but it wasn’t his place to tell Diana about what her uncle was up to. She would find out soon enough. “I hope that I won’t inconvenience you too much if I ask you to direct me to my cousin? She must be incredibly worried by now, and I’m sure she’s very upset with what happened.” He doubted that too. Gaby enjoyed watching Illya fight, almost as much as Napoleon did. He enjoyed it most of all when Illya wasn’t fighting with him. 

Diana nodded, her big eyes understanding. “Of course, Mister Krone. I’m terribly sorry that this happened to you. I assure you, this sort of thing is incredibly unusual. Our guards are normally just for show, this has never happened before. The security breach earlier has everyone on edge.”

“Did you find the source of the breach?” Napoleon asked. “Presumably it was the same man who attacked me.”

Diana shook her head. “No, not yet. But we will,” she promised. 

Napoleon hid another smile. That was a promise that Miss Hess was going to have to break. He took the hand that she offered and allowed her to pull him to his feet. He linked arms with her again and let her escort him out of the building to the edge of the property where Gaby and Illya were waiting, wrapped in each other’s arms, looking equally concerned and delighted. 

“Miss Krone, I apologise again for the incident earlier.”

Gaby waved a hand. “It was nothing, Miss Hess. My fiancé handled it,” she said, shooting Illya a smile, which he returned only slightly uncomfortable. “Thank you for finding my cousin,” Gaby continued. “Napoleon, I was so worried. What happened?” She asked voice pitched in a way that let Napoleon know that she knew exactly what happened. 

“I’ll tell you later, cousin,” said Napoleon. “I think it is time that we took our leave.”

“Of course,” said Diana. “I’ll have someone sent for your car, they’ll bring it to you shortly. I just want to apologise again, Mister Krone. I can’t imagine what it was like in that cramped little safe. I was once locked in a closet for a few minutes, and I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to breathe. I hope you weren’t claustrophobic.”

Napoleon forced a smile. “It was no problem, Miss Hess,” he lied again, even as his throat tightened at the memory of the confined space. “I’m sure you have other things to attend to, I’ll leave you to your duties.”

Diana smiled. “Thank you, Mister Krone. It was nice meeting you all,” she said, finally leaving.

Napoleon swallowed back his panic. “What the hell was that about, Peril?” He demanded, turning back to his partners. 

“Solo, are you claustrophobic?” Gaby asked. 

Napoleon bit back the automatic denial, knowing that it wouldn’t be convincing in his current state. Instead, he said nothing, taking the time to try to regain his breath. 

“Cowboy,” said Illya, sounding unusually remorseful. Napoleon didn’t want to hear him say something stupid, like apologise. 

“It’s nothing.”

“It is important,” Illya disagreed. 

“It won’t affect things. I just avoid small spaces and I’m alright.”

“Small spaces,” said Illya. “Like safe.”

“You didn’t know.”

“It won’t happen again,” Illya promised. 

_ It better not,  _ Napoleon thought but he resisted the urge to say it. They hadn’t known, he had made it a point not to let them - to let anyone - know, so they couldn’t have known. And now that they did, it wouldn’t happen again. 

“Are you alright, Solo?” Gaby asked. She brushed away some imaginary dirt from his collar and then her hand darted up to his forehead to rub at the sweat that had formed there. 

“Gaby!” He hissed, pulling her hand away. 

Gaby sniffed, entirely unremorseful. “You should have told us. We could have helped. What if this had become an issue?”

Napoleon rolled his eyes. “It won’t. I won’t let it.”

“ _ We  _ won’t let it,” Gaby corrected. She huffed. “It’s been a long night, I’m ready to go home. We can discuss this tomorrow.” And she shot him a look that it made it clear that they  _ would  _ be discussing it. 

Napoleon, when he had had a family, had been an only child. But there had been a family who lived next door with a small handful of kids, and Napoleon had ended up fused into that bunch more than once. There had been other children, After, who he had grown close to. They were something like family, even if only for a brief time. Gaby reminded him of them. 

For a man who prided himself on his sleuthing skills, this had caught him by surprise. As a man who had spent much of his life working alone, this wasn’t something that he knew how to handle. But, then, none of them really knew. 

They were just trying to figure things out on their own. On their own, and together. 

A uniformed man approached them. “Miss Krone?” He said, “I have your car. Would you like to drive home?”

They had taken a small car, and with Gaby driving - she always insisted on driving and Napoleon didn’t want to suffer through another running critique of his technique - that meant that either Illya or Napoleon would need to sit in the back. In the small, tight space. Napoleon didn’t notice that his breathing had sped up until Illya wrapped a hand around his elbow and was looking at him with an expression of feigned curiosity, pretending to ask his opinion for the sake of the man, but openly concerned to anyone who truly knew the Russian. 

Napoleon opened his mouth to ask if, maybe, they would mind if he walked when he was cut off by Gaby. “No, thank you, sir. I think we could use the walk.” She smiled with just enough embarrassment and vulnerability to draw out the sympathy in the man. “After this evening’s events… My cousin will collect the car tomorrow, if that is alright?”

The man nodded and left. 

“Thank you,” Napoleon mumbled. 

“We are a team, Solo,” Gaby replied easily. Her warm smile shifted to one more mischievous. “When you collect the car tomorrow, you can continue flirting with the niece because  _ someone  _ wasn’t able to get what we came here for.”

Illya shifted uncomfortably. “I found the safe,” he defended. 

“I think  _ I  _ found the safe,” Napoleon corrected, but he said no more on that matter. “And I suppose that I am also the most charming.”

“When you’re not covered in dust,” Gaby teased. “Come on, it is a cold night and I don’t intend on sleeping at the side of the road.”

“You’re the one who told the valet to go away,” Napoleon noted, falling in line at Gaby’s side as she began to walk down the long driveway. “You could be home by now.”

“And  _ you  _ would have walked?” 

Napoleon brushed at his suit. “I would have figured something out.”

“Does Miss Hess like dust?” Illya wondered, tone overly innocent, from Gaby’s other side. 

“I don’t think you would know what a lady would like, Peril,” Napoleon sniped back. 

“Just tell me before you leave tomorrow, Cowboy,” said Illya. “You may need a better escape.”

Napoleon was saved from needing to respond by Gaby’s announcement that she was cold, and rather than accepting Illya’s offer of his jacket, she pulled one of their arms each over her shoulders and they walked out of the Hess estate as a six-legged unit. They left together. They walked away. 

Their mission had gone wrong, but they had figured it out, as a unit. As a team. 


End file.
